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The words comforted Samantha, because they gave her a logical solution to what was essentially a mystical situation. She just had to relax and let events unfold.
Vojalie had fed Bernice in a secluded corner of the park, a blanket draped over her shoulder, then Davido had taken her back to Ethan’s house, in a taxi, where she would sleep for a couple of hours. Not all realm-folk could make use of levitated flight like Ethan and his powerful Guard.
A fae family approached Vojalie shyly, each bowing just a little, a very old, very formal greeting. Vojalie took the deference in stride then put her hand on the top of the children’s heads, one after the other, which made them smile.
It occurred to Samantha that Vojalie might actually be doing something to them, so she asked.
Vojalie laughed. “It’s a little trick, a soft jolt of vibration that sort of tickles. We call it a blessing and the children seem to love it.”
“I’ll bet they feel special.”
Vojalie met and held her gaze. “I think so. I hope so. I don’t think there’s anything so important to a child as feeling special. And what of you? Did you feel that way growing up?”
Samantha wondered at the nature of the question. It seemed oddly personal, probing. “Yes, I did. Both my parents as well as my grandmother, gave me a lot of attention and love, but it was hard losing them all in the space of the past few years. At times, impossible.”
“You have no other family?”
“No.”
“So, in that sense, you could make a life for yourself here, in Bergisson, if you wanted to?”
She couldn’t take the question in because the implications were so vast: Bergisson, realm-folk, her faeness, and always, Ethan and being a blood rose. “There are no impediments, just what’s in my heart.”
At that, Vojalie chuckled.
“What?”
“There is no impediment so great as what is in one’s heart.” She laughed again.
Samantha might have been irritated by the woman’s amusement, but she had gained a sense of Vojalie that she carried no malice within her spirit, no jealousy, no mean-spiritedness. And what she’d said was true because if it wasn’t in Samantha’s heart to make a place for herself in Ethan’s world, then nothing could move her here, not a dozen mastyrs, not a powerful fae, nothing.
The breeze picked up, coming from the south, driving toward the distant hills in the north, covered in large beech trees that shimmered against the dark night sky. She realized that her fae vision had continued to improve except for one small thing. “Am I seeing something red in the woods to the north?”
“What?” The sharpness of Vojalie’s tone filled Samantha with sudden dread. “Oh, God, you’re right. The Invictus are coming.”
A moment later, the alarms sounded and realm-folk began gathering up children and heading straight for the Guildhall. “Come. We have an extensive underground system for just such an emergency.”
Samantha realized this was just more of her vision unfolding as she continued to stare toward the trees.
Vojalie’s phone rang. “No, my love. We’re at the Guildhall. I’ll be perfectly safe as you well know and yes, Samantha is with me.” She tapped her phone, then returned it to the pocket of her tunic. “We should go.”
But Samantha felt it now, or rather him. This was where her vision had picked up and she could feel the Mastyr of Bergisson’s blood-hunger and the dire extent of his weakness.
Which meant that she had a very difficult decision to make.
“I have to stay.”
“Do what you must.” Then Vojalie was gone.
* * * * * * * * *
Because of Samantha’s vision, Ethan already had a large portion of his Guard at the fairgrounds, waiting near the eastern ridge, keeping a low profile among the trees, but he was in bad shape. Spots continued to move in and out of his vision and he fought an almost constant dizziness now. He knew he should turn the battle over to Finn, but the sight of the red wind had boosted his power and he’d flown down the eastern slopes at the front of his troops, his hand raised high, a war-cry in his throat.
He loathed the Invictus, those terrible, powerful wraith-based pairs that forged fighting units to challenge his men like nothing else could.
Through decades of practice, his men spread out in a long line across the grassy portion of the fairgrounds, setting up a defense between the beech-wood and all the colorful tents. Together his Guard would construct a shared wall of battle energy that would keep the Invictus from crossing. But they’d fight each Guardsmen with weapons of steel as well as streams of energy. If they could break through the powerful shield, they could attack the innocent at the Guildhall.
Something had to change in the way his Guard fought the Invictus . Ethan knew he needed a new mode of attack, maybe even a secondary attack strategy, something with grit, that personal touch lost with the development of the frequency support shields.
Though the shields served to keep the Invictus away from whatever population was nearby, something had been lost over the centuries in coming to terms with an enemy that simply never went away.
These thoughts shot through his head repeatedly as the Invictus pairs finally emerged from the woods, the horrible wraiths who had perverted themselves to take on a symbiotic mate, essentially enslaving another realm inhabitant. Wraiths often kidnapped realm-folk, of varying species, to forge a bonded pair and in that bonding, power surged. A weapon of war resulted, but to what army did this weapon belong?
He recalled Gerrod speaking of the Great Mastyr Vampire and an ancient fae force, but did these entities exist or had they been the imaginings reported by a wraith in the throes of death?
But the nature of the Invictus, as well as their consistent reappearance in each of the Nine Realms year after year, had long-convinced Ethan that some greater force lay behind the constant Invictus threat. The recent Merhaine attacks, with dramatically increased Invictus numbers, as well as the escalation in his own Bergisson Realm, showed organized strategy and tactics, the work of a master-mind.
“Steady!” His voice boomed down the ranks and an answering shout returned, echoing against the front line of the forest. They were fifty Guardsmen strong tonight, with rest of his Guard out patrolling in every sector of his realm.
But this part of the battle he loved, the unity of his Guard, the brotherhood of warriors, fighting for their land and for their people, whom they served. He shouted with his men, great cries into the night, daring the enemy to test their mettle.
